


princess

by isTrash



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: (who i completely made up), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Drama, GUYS, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, My poor bean, Original Character(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Whizzer Brown's Death, Runaway Whizzer, Whizzer Brown Deserves Better, Whizzer's family, tw, whizzer just needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isTrash/pseuds/isTrash
Summary: Omaha, Nebraska1952The moment Ellen Brown held her only son for the first time, she knew he'd be special. She knew she'd love him with all her heart."It's just a movie. What's the big deal?""The big deal? Honey, the big deal is our son turning into a fag. You don't want that, do you?"





	1. baseball

**Author's Note:**

> TW: homophobic language, implied/referenced homophobia

 

Omaha, Nebraska

  
   
1952

  
   
The moment Ellen Brown held her only son for the first time, she knew he'd be special. She knew she'd love him with all her heart.  
 

  
But she also knew that she'd have to protect him. The rest of the world would be cruel. But she, as a mother, wouldn't let anything touch her child. Wouldn't let anything ruin his innocence.

  
   
Her husband, Robert Brown, was considerably less protective of their only son, less protective of his small, chubby hands that grasped onto everything and his dimpled cheeks. But he still loved him.

  
   
They named the child Micah Benjamin Brown, Micah after Robert's father, and Benjamin from Ellen's father.

  
   
The day Micah was brought home, their two daughters, Mary Beth, the oldest sibling, and Barbara, the youngest sister, absolutely adored their baby brother. They both doted over him and his small, ticklish feet and rolls of fat on his tummy.

  
   
And despite Ellen Brown's suspicions, Micah Brown was a generally normal toddler.

  
   
He ran around the house, a rambunctious, happy child, whizzing through the air like a jet, thus, earning the nickname "Whizzer".

  
   
But of course, just because everything was generally normal, didn't mean that he wasn't completely generic. Micah had taken more interest to Snow White and Cinderella than most boys his age had, even wanting to dress up as Cinderella for Halloween one year. But when Ellen and Robert went to see Micah's daycare teacher, she had assured them it was completely normal for a child to act like Micah, and that it was simply just a phase, and that eventually, he'd grow out of it, and move on.

  
   
So both parents, nerves both quelled by the time they walked out of the daycare, listened to their son ramble on about princesses, relief coursing through the two of them that their son wasn't... _a homo_ , and that it was just a phase.

  
   
Except, Micah didn't move on.

  
   
Four years later, when Sleeping Beauty came out, Micah was practically _raving_ about going to see it and begged to go see it with his sisters.

  
   
Robert, always the pessimist, said no, saying that it would make Micah _a fag_.

  
   
However, Ellen punched him in the arm and agreed to take Micah with his sisters.

  
   
"It's just a movie," Ellen said to Robert that night after putting the kids to bed. "What's the big deal?"

  
   
Robert scoffed and turned towards his wife. "The big deal? Honey, the big deal is our son turning into a fag. You don't want that, do you?"

  
   
Ellen didn't say anything, in favor of pursing her lips than talking back to her husband.

  
   
Soon after the movie, the two parents both agreed that the reason Micah loved princess movies was that of the pretty women because that was plausible! Their looks were very admirable and they were _very_ pretty. That was what they told themselves.

  
   
But one day, while Ellen was cleaning Micah's room, she came across a poorly drawn picture of the prince from Sleeping Beauty, with sloppily drawn hearts drawn around him.

  
   
Ellen quickly stuffed the picture into the garbage bin as soon as she found it on her only son's desk and exited the room, trying to clear it from her mind.  
 

 

* * *

  
   
Eventually, though, he did grow out of it. Not completely, but it wasn't the only thing he talked about. Now that topic was replaced with something better, something more masculine:  
 

  
Baseball.


	2. typical morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omaha Nebraska
> 
> 1981
> 
> It was a very typical morning in the Brown household.

  
Omaha Nebraska

  
1981  
  
It was a very typical morning in the Brown household. Sixty-eight-year-old Ellen Brown and Robert Brown were sitting at the table, eating their breakfasts. Thirty-six and thirty-three-year-old Mary Beth Carter and Barbara Greer were sitting down at the table as well, their husbands conversing with Robert, as the three women talked while watching the children playing in the den and watching Sesame Street.

  
Ellen Brown was watching her grandchildren when she thought of something. "Oh!" she said, turning to the table. Everyone stopped in the middle of their conversations to look to her, to hear what she had to say. Ellen looked at her husband and placed her hands on his arm. "Dear, we forgot about the mail."

  
"I'll get it for you, Ellen," Bobby, Mary Beth's husband offered.

  
Ellen smiled kindly at the young man. "Thank you, dearie."

  
Bobby smiled and got up from the table to get the mail.

  
  
Everyone went back to their respective conversations, Ellen Brown only pausing to go through the stack of mail Bobby had brought. They were bills and taxes—a few of the occasional magazine prescriptions. But one specific letter addressed to them caught her eye.

  
_Trina Weisenbachfeld_  
_8976 St Louis Street_  
_New York, NY 10034_

 _Ellen & Robert Brown_  
_3940 Ashwood Drive_  
_Omaha, NE 68102_

  
  
Confusion coating her features, Ellen grabbed Robert's arm again. He was pulled from his conversation. "What?" He asked.

  
Ellen tried not to flinch as a hint of agitation plagued his tone.

  
  
"There's a letter to us from Trina Weisenbachfeld. Do we even know a Trina Weisenbachfeld?"

  
  
Robert furrowed his eyebrows. "That is weird. Well, let's open it up, I'll see if it's a scam."

  
  
Ellen nodded and let go of her husband's arm. She opened the letter carefully, not noticing the table's conversation stop as she read the letter, her face going paler by the second.

  
  
_It is with sadness that I inform you of the untimely death of Micah "Whizzer" Brown. He died in his sleep peacefully with his family at his side, including me, in the hospital on December 29th, 3:19 AM. I offer you my condolences, as you must be distraught after hearing this news._

_  
We are holding the funeral on January 6th, at 12:45 PM._

_  
We do hope that you'll be able to attend the funeral._

  
_Sincerely, Trina Weisenbachfeld_

  
  
Ellen's eyes were filled to the brim with tears by the time she was done reading the letter. She threw it to the middle of the table, covering her face with her hands as she let out a sob.

  
Robert tried to rub her back in a comforting manner, but the tears still flowed freely.

  
By the time she'd calmed down enough to open her eyes, both Mary Beth and Barbara were reading the letter. Tears were filling their eyes as well, but as Mary Beth cried openly, Barbara blinked her tears away, swallowing hard.

  
"Barb, what's the matter?" Frederick asked, trying to comfort his distressed wife.

  
  
Barbara only shook her head. "M-may I be excused?" She looked to Robert for his response, almost as if she were still fourteen. "No," he said firmly. "We are all going to sit down as a family, read that damned letter, and see why it's making everyone cry!"

  
  
Ellen bit her lip, tears still rolling down her face. She knew it would be a terrible idea for him to read the letter, but it would be an even worse idea to keep it a secret from Robert.

  
  
So, making her decision, Ellen grabbed the letter with shaking hands and handed it over to her husband.

  
  
She watched his reaction as he read the letter. His face went bright red, and a vein popped out in his forehead.

  
  
"How did that fucking _faggot_ get our address?!" Robert hissed. "And why do they expect us to come to his funeral?!"

  
  
"Dad!" Barbara yelled vehemently. "I cannot believe you! He's your son!"

  
"What's going on here?" said the groggy voice of George, who was standing blurry-eyed in the doorway. He was nineteen now and in his second year of college. "Why's everyone yelling?"

  
Before Robert could tell him what was going on, Mary Beth took him aside and into the hallway to tell him what happened.

  
  
Robert glared at Ellen, almost as if it was her fault that George had woken up from all the commotion.

  
Robert stood up from his chair angrily as everyone began to hear crying coming from the hallway. Robert continued to glare at Ellen before storming out of the room. Ellen sighed and wiped her tears away, rubbing her temples.

  
George and Mary Beth soon emerged from the hallway, George's face red and lined with tear tracks.

  
Ellen got up from her chair and strode over to her now only son. She wrapped him in a tender hug, one that was wholeheartedly returned.

  
She kissed his hair before reluctantly pulling away.

  
Ellen turned to Barbara, putting on a somber face.

  
"Go check on the children, make sure they're all okay if they heard anything," she turned to Mary Beth, her strict face softening slightly. "I'm so sorry for having you tell everyone, but you know how Robert gets if he's left alone like this. Tell the men what's happened. I'm sure they're confused as ever right now."

  
Both women nodded and went to do their assigned tasks. Ellen tried to muster all her courage to face her husband. She really did hate it when he got like this.

  
But she was glad he hadn't hit her in front of their children and in-laws.

  
She exited the room and walked through the den to get to the hallway leading to their room.

  
She stood at the door anxiously, her hand raised to knock hesitantly. Ellen only shook her head, coming to her senses, and knowing full well that if she waited any longer, Robert might do something rash.

  
  
She knocked on the door, and held her breath, waiting for her husband's response.

  
"Come in," came the gruff reply.

  
She quietly opened the door to their bedroom and closed it behind her.

  
Robert was laid on his side of the bed, his back facing Ellen. Ellen walked over to their bed, and gently crawled into bed, rubbing his back as she did so. Low mumbling came from Robert, and Ellen knew it was a good sign, that he was calming down.

  
  
She kissed his cheek and continued to rub his back. Robert sighed, and soon turned over to face her in the bed, his eyes no longer holding the glint they had before.

  
  
She looked into Robert's eyes; Micah's eyes.

  
Her eyes began to fill with tears like they had earlier. She tried to blink them away in order to not upset Robert right after she calmed him. But the longer she thought about Robert, the tears came faster. The thought of Robert only prompted more of Micah; of her baby boy Whizzer.

  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut and felt gentle hands place themselves on her arm. A gasp escaped Ellen and she opened her eyes to see Robert looking at her with guilt in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to be comforting, but only made her cry more. It had only just struck her how similar Robert and Micah's voices are… were.

  
  
Not knowing what to do, Robert grabbed her in a hug. Ellen grasped onto his shirt and sobbed for what felt like the tenth time that day.

  
  
"Shh... Ellen, if you really want... We can go. We'll go to the funeral."

  
"Rob," Ellen choked out through her tears.

  
  
"Shh... everything will be alright, okay? Everything will be alright..."

 

* * *

 

  
" _You did what?!_ "

  
" _Relax, Marvin. They're his family! They have a right to know!_ "

  
Marvin sighed into the receiver. "Not if his family are anything like Whizzer told me."

  
Marvin could almost see Trina purse her lips on the other line. " _That may be true, but what if..._ "

  
"What if Whizzer was lying?" Marvin snapped.

  
  
" _No! No, no, no! Marvin, you know I didn't mean it like that!_ "

  
"Whatever," Marvin mumbled.

  
" _Anyway_ ," Trina said. " _They might not even come. And not everyone in his family could be that horrible._ "

  
  
Marvin snorted bitterly. "Fine. Because it makes _so much more sense_ for the woman who hated the man who died to be planning his funeral instead of his _boyfriend_." And with that, he hung up the phone, and returned to drowning himself in his bottle of Jack Daniel's.


	3. slasor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omaha, Nebraska
> 
> 1962
> 
> Three years later, when Mary Beth was seventeen, Barbara was fourteen, and Micah (now going by Whizzer) was ten, Ellen Brown gave birth to George Brown and it was his turn to be doted over.

Omaha, Nebraska

  
  
1962

 

  
Three years later, when Mary Beth was seventeen, Barbara was fourteen, and Micah (now going by Whizzer) was ten, Ellen Brown gave birth to George Brown and it was his turn to be doted over.

 

  
At first, Whizzer was hesitant to go near the baby, afraid that somehow he'd end up dropping him, or hurting him, or screwing him up some way. But eventually, his mother, frustrated by all the fast given denials to meet George, forced him to meet his brother.

 

  
From the moment Whizzer tensely held George in his arms, he'd fallen in love. He visited him in his parent's room every night before bed, and kiss him on his bald head. And sometimes Whizzer would sneak into his parents' room with Barbara, and watch with awe as Barbara played with the youngest Brown sibling.

 

  
He and Barbara got really close that summer, too. They told each other everything; from what they both hated about school to what they hoped their mother would cook for dinner that night.

 

Eventually, Barbara started hanging out with her friends. Leaving Whizzer alone. Soon after, he started going to the library to just mess around with the books.

 

One day in the middle of summer, Whizzer had come home from the library and saw his father sat on the couch watching the television. Whizzer looked to the Tv screen. Whizzer groaned.

 

  
Baseball.

 

  
Oh, how he loathed that sport.

 

  
His father looked back from his spot on the couch, grinning when he saw his son. “Hey, Whizzer. Wanna sit down and watch some baseball with me?”

 

  
Whizzer hesitated. “Sure...” He said, drawing out the ‘u’.

 

  
Mr. Brown smiled, patting the spot next to him. Whizzer plopped down in the offered spot next to his father, staring blankly at the Tv.

 

  
When commercials came on (it was that stupid, annoying _Fritos_ commercial that Whizzer hated), Whizzer turned to his father to say, “Dad, what're the rules in baseball?”

 

Mr. Brown turned towards his son and scrunched his face up. “You don't know them?” he asked.

 

  
Whizzer shook his head no. Mr. Brown sighed, running a hand over his face. “Well,” he began, “there are two teams with nine players on each team that takes turns playing offense and defense. It's really quite simple.”

 

  
Whizzer, still confused, asked, “What's offense and defense?”

 

  
“Offense is batting and baserunning. Defense is pitching and fielding.”

 

Whizzer frowns, looking at the screen of the Tv.

 

  
“I'm actually surprised you didn't know all this before, Whiz.”

 

  
Whizzer shrugged. He looked over to face his dad. “The kids are mean. I almost always get picked last and everyone calls me a fag. So I don't really like baseball.”

 

A dark look crosses over his dad's face. Whizzer thinks he saw his eye twitch. But then the game comes back on and Whizzer thinks he imagined it.

 

  
He enjoys it, understanding now. The next time baseball is on, his dad calls him downstairs, and they both watch baseball together.

 

  
That's how Whizzer's obsession had taken its place.

* * *

 

A week before school began, his first baseball practice was held. He was excited, sure, but it was more of a chore his parents had forced onto him last second, saying ‘ _It'll be fun!_ ’ or ‘ _You'll make some friends!_ ’

 

The first half of practice Whizzer spent sulking in the benches. A few of the boys playing had caught his eye. He didn't think anything of it; he didn't know he should've.

 

  
A tall, lanky redheaded boy eventually sat next to him. “Hi!” he said brightly. His smile practically blinded Whizzer.

 

  
“Hi,” he mumbled back. The boy's smile didn't falter from the disheartened ‘hello’ Whizzer had given. It seemed to glow even brighter.

 

  
“What's your name?” the boy asked.

 

  
Whizzer hesitated. “Whizzer Brown,” he said eventually. He looked down at his hands, expecting the familiar ‘what kind of name is that?’ question. But he never got one. He looked back at the boy. “And yours?”

 

  
“Oh!” the boy said. “I'm Richard Slasor!” Richard stuck out his hand. Whizzer eyed the offered hand warily, his hesitation disappearing more and more by the second. After a moment, he took the hand, shaking it.

 

Richard smiled at him, brightly. Whizzer's insides seemed to melt as he gave back a tentative smile, self-consciousness taking over him as he remembered how his teeth were so yellow in comparison to Richard.

 

  
Richard sat next to him for the rest of practice. They both watched other boys whose parents had forced them there as well play on the field, both conversing about pointless, trivial matters concerning both of them at the moment that would amount to nothing when they were both grown.

 

  
When it came time to leave, Whizzer departed from Richard's side with a smile gracing his face.

 

  
“What's got you so happy, Whiz?” His mother asked him when he made it home.

 

  
“Made a new friend,” He explained.

 

  
Fondness for her child filled his mother's eyes while she wrapped her child into a bone-crushing hug, kissing the top of his head unnecessarily. Whizzer snorted, escaping his mother's overbearing nature, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and ran upstairs, saying a rushed hello to his sisters chatting on the couch.

 

  
He ran into his room, hopped onto the bed, tugging the big, yellow phone book up from underneath his bed onto his royal blue duvet.

 

  
He opened the book, his eyes scanning over the yellowing pages. When he finally found what he was looking for, he smiled heartily, running back down the stairs to the phone, repeating the number in his head like a mantra.

 

  
Whizzer quickly dialed the number into the phone.

 

  
“Hi, Slasor residence?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i'm back! i may or may not get the next few chapters out as fast as i'd like, as i'm getting out of the hospital soon, but it'd still be posted frequently! and if anyones wondering what the fritos commercial is and why whizzer hates it, it have it linked right here: [ xxxx](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fOUilxJWm24). whizzer shares my views on it as well and.... you'll see why...
> 
> and also, richard will kinda be like whizzer's Steve Blade ;)


	4. considerations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York City, New York
> 
>  
> 
> 1981
> 
>  
> 
> To say that life had gone to shit from the moment Whizzer took his last breath and the heart monitor he'd been connected to had flatlined was an understatement.

New York City, New York

  
   
1981

  
   
To say that life had gone to shit from the moment Whizzer took his last breath and the heart monitor he'd been connected to had flatlined was an understatement.

  
   
Things had gone completely downhill from the moment Whizzer collapsed during Jason's bar mitzvah. Everyone (besides Charlotte) had waited in the waiting room, itching for answers. Trina and Mendel had tried to convince Jason that they should go home, but he was having none of it. So everyone stayed.

  
   
They all had avoided talking to Marvin. They knew their attempts at conversation would either end in Marvin lashing out or it being completely ignored. At this point, everyone was being as gentle with Marvin as they were with Whizzer.

  
   
But like all things, in a few hours, Charlotte had emerged from the room, wearing a somber expression on her face.

  
   
Immediately, Marvin sprang out of his chair, pocketing his yarmulke which he'd been fiddling with in his wait, and ambushed the exhausted doctor with questions concerning his partner.  
 

  
Charlotte held up her hands in surrender. “Marvin, give me a second, one question at a time, please.”

  
   
Marvin drew in a breath. “Right. Sorry,” he said curtly. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn't the only one who cared and demanded answers.  
 

  
“What happened? Is he okay?”

  
   
Charlotte smiled bitterly. “Well, Whizzer has Pneumocystis pneumonia, a common infection seen in patients like him. It causes inflammation and fluid buildup in the lungs. It's not certain, due to the lack of information we have on this disease, but we think that's what caused this. And again, due to lack of funding or information, we have no idea, but based on how other patients react to the buildup of fluid in their lungs… we say he has one week left. Two if he's lucky.”  
 

  
Marvin let out a shuddering breath. He nodded, looking down at his fingers, ignoring the stifled sobs coming from Trina. He heard footsteps hesitantly pitter-patter next to him, and skinny arms wrap themselves around his torso. Marvin looked down, less than surprised when he saw it was his son. His son wasn't a big hugger, so it was surprising that he'd hug Marvin, but Marvin didn't have it in him to be surprised anymore at this point.  
 

  
Soon, he heard the click of heals hit the tiled floor of the hospital and felt another set of arms wrapping around his shoulders. He saw blonde, curly hair obstruct his vision, and bit his lip to keep the sobs from rupturing from his throat.

  
   
He stayed in the embrace of his friend and son for a while longer, before pulling away.

  
   
“Is he awake?” Marvin asked Charlotte.

  
   
Charlotte shook her head. “No. We gave him a minor sedative to help with the pain in his chest. So he should be asleep for a while.”

  
   
“Can I see him?”

  
   
Charlotte nodded. “And hey, Marvin?” she said, stopping him. Marvin's hand on the doorknob loosened as he turned to face her. He saw Cordelia heading towards the direction of Charlotte's office, Tupperware in her arms, as Trina and Mendel got up, Trina still latched onto her husband's chest while they called Jason over. Jason walked over to his parent's side sullenly.  
 

  
Charlotte continued, now having his attention. “We've tried removing some fluid from the lungs in an attempt to help the pain. Some've worked, but some also haven't. But, if you want, we can try that with Whizzer?”

  
   
Marvin shook his head. “It's up to you Charlotte. It's your call. But ask Whizzer, too.”

  
   
The black woman nodded. She tried giving Marvin a smile and retreated back to her office.

  
   
Marvin had sat by Whizzer's side for hours, dead set on staying there in that spot until Whizzer woke up.

  
   
Whizzer had lived longer than anyone expected; two weeks and a half. But it still wasn't nearly enough time for Marvin.

  
   
He wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, side by side. He wanted to get married when it was made legalized, wanting to know with satisfaction that his marriages could go smoothly. He had wanted to adopt a child with Whizzer, a child that they can love just as much as they loved each other and not only stay together for the sake of their child.  
 

  
He wanted to grow old with Whizzer, live to his eighties or nineties and only have to watch his lover die in the hospital fifty or sixty years later—not when Whizzer was only twenty-nine, not even thirty yet.  
 

  
Marvin had wanted so many things. But now he'd never get them. Maybe God was real. Maybe God wanted to make Marvin suffer for not being a good person and for not believing in Him for so many years.  
 

  
But that couldn't be it. If God was real, then why was his thirteen-year-old son having to suffer too? He'd done nothing wrong. He'd only been the young spectator, innocent and naïve enough to pray for Whizzer.  
 

  
Marvin was a wreck. He'd burst into tears if his clock read 3:19 AM. He stayed in bed, only getting up to restock his supply of alcohol in his bedroom. Soon, he'd run out of alcohol but didn't dare go near the aged wine Whizzer had been all over when he bought it. Why? Because it reminded him of Whizzer.  
 

  
Everything seemed to remind of Whizzer now. Even Thursdays, seeing as it was the day Whizzer had died on.  
 

  
Thursday, January 29th, 1981, 3:19 AM was the exact time Marvin's life had become hell.  
 

  
One day, a day he was actually sober and going out (to get more alcoholic beverages to stock back up on) he'd passed a riot of gay men protesting with homemade signs about the gay cancer that was spreading. It took everything Marvin had to not collapse into tears right then and there. Abruptly, he ran back towards his apartment, pushing and shoving past tired pedestrians on the streets going to work which he himself had been neglecting, almost losing his job every time he called in sick or used one of his vacation days.  
 

  
He locked himself in the apartment and, not for the first time, considered jumping off his apartment balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everybody! nothing much to really say, but i hope everyone's had a good day!
> 
> tumblr (@JeremyIsTheIntrovertHeere)  
> instagram (@jeremy_is_utter_trash_hi)  
> twitter (@JeremyIsTrash)
> 
> i wrote this all in about an hour, looked over it for about 10 minutes, the posted it, so tell me in the comments if there are any misspellings or typos or anything like that! i also typed this on a computer with a broken 'L' key. so again, please tell me if an L is missing from where it should be.
> 
> kudos are much appreciated :)


	5. robert hits ellen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omaha, Nebraska
> 
> 1965
> 
>  
> 
> _Dear Diary,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Sometimes… I think I’m queer. ___

Omaha, Nebraska

1965

_Dear Diary,_

_So, today Richard punched someone for calling me a girl. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone more than him ever right then. Oh well._

_Oh, right. Speaking of kissing. Linda kissed me on the cheek today. She’s nice and pretty I guess, but I don’t think I like her the way other boys in my class do. Some of the boys whistled and said ‘nice’ to me in passing after the kiss. I think they thought I was lucky. I didn’t feel lucky._

_Sometimes… oh God, I hope Mary Beth and Barbara don’t read this… I think I’m queer. Dad says queers like boys, but he also says they go to Hell. I don’t want to go to Hell. But mom says everyone goes to Sheol. I don’t really know who to believe._

_Well… that’s it. I have to go study for my dumb pre-algebra test. I can't wait for school to be over._

* * *

 

“Whizzer! Up, up, up, up, up!”

Whizzer groaned into his pillow. “No, George. It’s a Sunday.”

“But daddy said that you have to get up at six for church or somethin’!”

Whizzer sat up in bed, looking it his clock. Sure enough, the clock read 6:02.

Whizzer set his clock back down and ran a hand through his hair. He slipped out of bed and put on his normal church attire.

He wore a pressed, white button-down shirt with wrinkle-free trousers. He wore his usual oxfords, and brushed his hair and teeth in the bathroom. His mother came in mid-prepping to dress George for church.

“When are we going to temple for a change?” Whizzer asked his mom when he was dressed and ready.

His mother let out a pained sigh. “I have no idea, honey. It depends on when your father chooses, which, knowing him, could be never.”

Whizzer let out an annoyed huff. He exited the room, nearly running into Mary Beth on the way downstairs. She was still in the typical moody-teen phase that still made her act like a total bitch, and both Barbara and Whizzer mocked her behind her back.

“Watch it, Micah!” Mary Beth said, pissed off.

Whizzer rolled his eyes. “Whizzer!” he corrected indignantly.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. She stomped past him on the stairs, muttering something about ‘twerps’.

Whizzer walked downstairs, looking longingly to the front door inches away from where he stood.

It’d be so easy to just slip out of his house and bike over to Richard’s…

He shook his head, cutting himself out of it. His parents would definitely not approve, especially his father, with him being a strict Christian after all. Whizzer mostly identified his faith as Jewish, taking his mom’s side in the matter, but he was normally pretty split.

He walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Barbara was eating at the small circular table that only seated four people. Whizzer grabbed a piece of white bread, put it in the toaster, and sat next to Barbara.

“Hey,” she said through a mouthful of eggs.

Whizzer rolled his eyes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It's crazy, I’m thirteen but I’m somehow better trained.”

Barbara shoved at him playfully. “Hey, when you’re sixteen like me, you’ll understand.”

Whizzer smirked and opened his mouth to retort but the toaster had spat out his toast. “Oh!” he said instead.

Barbara snickered at him and his unexpected outburst while Whizzer got up from the table, glaring all the while, and went to get his piece of toast.

“Kids! Get in the car, let’s go!”

Whizzer groaned. Of course now was the time his father decided to go. They’d all probably be thirty minutes early anyways. Barbara and Whizzer exchanged glances, both rushing out of the kitchen.

* * *

 

“Whizzer! Hey!”

Whizzer’s head shot up at the familiar voice of the exclamation.

“Richard!” Whizzer said, a joyous smile replacing his previously bored façade.

They began to advance towards each other, Richard holding his hand out for Whizzer to take. Whizzer always thought of his best friend’s touchiness as a blessing and a curse. But Whizzer took his hand every time, walking hand in hand to their one class they had together.

“Did you do the homework for Mrs. Dillen?” Richard asked.

“Shit, no! I forgot.”

Richard shook his head in disbelief. “I do all my homework in Mr. Harris’ class. Anyways, you know the drill; I’ll let you copy.”

Whizzer pretended to look touched. “Aww, thanks Richie-”

“Out of the way, fags!” a big, bulky seventh grader spat at them.

A familiar fire in Richard’s eyes made way. Whizzer put a coaxing hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t. They aren’t worth it.”

What Whizzer had said appeared to have the effect he’d been looking for. Richard turned back to Whizzer, the flames in his friend’s eyes quelling at his expression.

As they continued walking, Richard slipped his hand swiftly out of Whizzer’s.

“Um… you aren’t one though… right?”

“One?” Whizzer asked.

“A fag.”

“Oh. I, uh. No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Y’know, what with my religion, I’d have to stop being your friend if you were.”

Whizzer attempted to swallow through the lump in his throat. “Uh-huh.”

Richard smiled. “But since you aren’t, we can continue to be best friends.”

“Yay.”

Richard gave Whizzer a glimmering smile that made his heart break even more.

“Good talk.”

* * *

 

When Whizzer got home, he was placed in the middle of a war taking place in the Brown household’s den.

“I won't let you have Micah! He’s enough of a girl as it is! He has to have some masculine figure in his life!”

“You do not get to speak about Micah that way! He’s perfect as he as Robert, and you know it!”

“But he’s so clearly a fag, Ellen!”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT HE IS! You don't know your son! You hardly ever even SEE your son! For that matter, you don't know your daughters that well, either!”

“Do NOT bring our daughters into this! They have done nothing wrong, Ellen!”

“Oh, and Micah has?! Honestly, I think Greg Slasor is more of a father figure for Micah than you are!”

“For the last damn time Ellen, this isn’t about other people! This is about Micah and what’s best for him!”

He exchanged a petrified glance with his sisters who were caught in the middle of the fire much like him.

Barbara tried to reassure him with a halfhearted smile. It did nothing to douse the flame in Whizzer’s chest that was anxiety.

“…You know what Robert?! You’re… you’re a son of a bitch who doesn’t care about his damn family at all!”

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the sound of skin hitting skin reverberated through the room.

Whizzer stared in silence at his father towering over his mother, fury in Robert's eyes. His mother suppressed a sob, holding her hand to her cheek. You could hear a pen drop in the room and the tension was so thick a knife could cut through it.

Whizzer stood in wide-eyed shock.

He would've charged at Robert, but he knew his father wouldn't even hesitate to slap him, like he'd just done to his wife, or possibly something worse.

So instead, Whizzer stood with his sisters, speechless and in shock, making no movements other than fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Robert stood facing Whizzer’s mother, glaring at her in silence, his breathing heavy and erratic. Eventually, Robert grabbed Mrs. Brown’s wrist, pulling her towards their bedroom, where shouting was heard immediately from the other side of the door after it was slammed shut.

After a few tense seconds of no movement, Mary Beth took action.

“Micah—”

“Whizzer.”

“—go upstairs to your room. Make sure George is still asleep. Me and Barbara are going to stay up for a little bit longer to make sure… to be sure if mom's okay.”

Whizzer glared at his oldest sister. “No! Why can’t I stay down here and help?! You two can-”

“Because I said so!” Mary Beth snapped. She took a deep breath and responded to Whizzer’s glare with one of her own. “Jesus Christ Micah, stop being such a child. Go upstairs and make sure George is still asleep. Now.”

Whizzer was… shocked. He’d never seen his sister act like that and especially never towards him. “Fine,” Whizzer spat out. “See if I care. But if I'm a ‘child’, then you’re a self centered bitch.”

And then he took off, storming upstairs, not bothering to see the stony look on his sisters’ faces, not bothering to see the disappointment in Barbara’s eyes. Because he could just imagine their expressions. It made him regret what he said, but it also made him want to punch something, want to throw something, want to break something.

He wanted to slam his bedroom door and flop onto his pillows and just scream. But he couldn't and he wouldn't, because despite how he acted sometimes, he was a good brother and he didn't want to wake George up.

So instead of slamming the door closed, he closed it gingerly. He quietly walked towards his bed, ignoring his pent up anger, and got into bed. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into his nightwear and settled in his bed.

He tossed and turned for half of the night, still fuming.

He fell asleep with angry tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, never letting a single tear slip. Because that's what he was taught. Robert had sat him down as a child, and drilled it into his head that men don't cry. And so Whizzer didn't cry. He just stared at the ceiling above him, praying to go to sleep.

His prayers never came true though, nor were they ever answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven’t been very happy with my writing recently. i don’t know… it’s probably nothing, but lately my writing’s been pretty unsatisfactory. just, tell me what you think about my writing. i _personally _am not very happy with it as of the late. but tell me what you think in the comments, i suppose.__
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://jeremyistheintrovertheere.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/JeremyIsTrash)  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jeremy_is_utter_trash_hi/)
> 
>  
> 
> kudos are much appreciated :)


	6. semblance of normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York City, New York
> 
> 1981
> 
> Trina didn't know how she should’ve been feeling when Whizzer died. Sure, she was upset, but had she even deserved the right to be sad? Hell, for three years of her life she resented and (tried to) hate Whizzer until suddenly it just became too hard and exhausting, especially when that feeling of hate was never returned to her in the way she’d hoped.

New York City, New York

  
1981

  
Trina didn't know how she should’ve been feeling when Whizzer died. Sure, she was upset, but had she even deserved the right to be sad? Hell, for three years of her life she resented and (tried to) hate Whizzer until suddenly it just became too hard and exhausting, especially when that feeling of hate was never returned to her in the way she’d hoped.

  
She felt… hopeless. Like her dysfunctional family had become somehow even more dysfunctional. Jason acted out more at school, Trina’s sex life was practically back at square one, and Marvin was barely seen sober. She hadn’t even seen the lesbians since Whizzer’s death, but she knew Charlotte must’ve felt guilty. The doctor probably even thought it was her fault. And God knows how Cordelia must feel while her lover blamed herself over the death of their friend.

  
So when one morning, as the Weisenbachfeld family was eating (slightly burnt) breakfast, the phone rang, with Charlotte on the receiving end of the line, of course it surprised Trina. But Charlotte had called to tell her about the funeral arrangements.

  
“If we do it any later, his body will begin to rot and we’d have to cremate him, and everyone knows that Whizzer didn’t want that.”

  
Trina furrowed her eyebrows at the blunt way Charlotte had delivered her reasoning. “But why should I plan it?” Trina asked.

  
She could hear Charlotte sigh. “Well, you’re probably the best with preparations and, well,” Charlotte faltered, “normally it’d be the significant other planning, but… we both know Marvin wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

  
Trina’s heart clenched. “Oh.”

  
“But, will you do it? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I think it should be you—”

  
“I’ll do it, Charlotte.”

  
Trina could see her smile daintily over the line. “Thank you, Trina. I don’t think anyone could take planning it without breaking down in sobs. He was such a good man…”

  
“I know. It’s… it’s a shame the good ones have to die so young,” Trina agreed.

  
Both ends of the line quieted.

  
“Who all should I invite?” Trina asked.

 

An intake of breath; “…Well,” Charlotte began timidly. “He did write a letter regarding his funeral. I’ll send you a copy of it.”

  
“Okay,” Trina nodded.

  
“Okay.”

  
“Well…”

  
“Goodbye, Trina.”

  
“…Goodbye, Charlotte.”

 

Later at night, Charlotte dropped off the letter on her way home from her shift.

  
She read over it in bed while Mendel brushed his teeth.

  
“What’re you reading, darling?” Mendel asked.

  
Trina sighed. She shoved the letter into Mendel’s hand and hugged her torso.

  
Mendel’s eyes became downcast. “Oh.”

  
Trina nodded. “Yeah. Charlotte called this morning. Asked if I would prepare the funeral.”

  
“Oh,” he repeated.

  
Trina wordlessly looped her arms around Mendel’s neck. He delicately kissed her hair and got in bed next to her.

* * *

She read over the letter at least ten times, every line, phrase, saying ingrained into her head. She found herself reciting the last written document Whizzer had left behind in the grocery store.

  
He wanted his parents to come.

  
Up until that point, Trina had been convinced that Whizzer didn’t even have any other family.

  
It was a tough subject to grasp, Whizzer’s family, his kin. They must’ve been on bad terms with each other when Whizzer was alive, hence Whizzer’s lack of backstory.

  
Thinking about it made Trina dismal. Had they kicked Whizzer out? What had happened in Whizzer’s youth that made it so hard to talk about? She knew he’d told Marvin about his childhood, but no one had prodded Whizzer to tell them as well, not wanting to be intrusive.

  
Regardless, it was Whizzer’s family. Even if the sheer thought of his relatives made her nauseous, they had a right to know as his family. And they couldn’t all be that bad. Right?

  
Trina had no idea. She continued to have no idea as she wrote and mailed off the letter addressed to Whizzer’s parents.

  
She dialed Marvin’s phone, holding her breath until Marvin finally picked up. Needless to say, he did not take well to being told that his dead boyfriend’s family would be coming to the funeral for said boyfriend.

  
“Oh, Mendel,” she sighed into her husband’s shoulder later that night after dinner. “I don’t have any idea what on Earth I’m doing.”

  
Mendel pet her hair and Trina leaned into the touch. “I don’t know what I’m doing either,” he admitted in a low voice. “And I’m the psychiatrist. I should know what I’m doing. But I don’t.”

  
Trina pecked him softly on the lips. Mendel smiled against her lips and stared at her with love clear in his eyes.

  
She embraced her husband and felt a pang of guilt and sympathy hit her as she realized how hard it must be for Marvin. Trina at least had Mendel to depend on to help her through her grief, as did Cordelia and Charlotte. Jason was too young to have a romantic interest, of course, but he always had Trina and Mendel. However, Marvin had to go through his grieving alone. And if he did have Whizzer to mourn with, there would be no sorrow to begin with.

  
However, Trina ignored the constriction of her heart and leaned into Mendel, closing the space between them and kissing softly in the middle of the doorframe to the foyer.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Trina ran into Cordelia in Whole Foods Market.

  
“Oh, hello Trina!” Cordelia said, smiling as she bade Trina hello.

  
“Hello, Cordelia. Lovely seeing you here.”

  
“Likewise.”

  
Trina smiled and nodded, smoothing down her dress. They went into an awkward silence, both coming up empty with conversation starters.  
“You should come over,” Cordelia suddenly blurted out as soon as Trina had begun to lose hope. When Trina raised her eyebrows, Cordelia added, “For drinks, I mean. And we could talk. We haven’t seen each other since Whizzer…”

  
“Sure,” Trina said with a reassuring smile. “I would love to.”

  
Cordelia beamed. “Well, I should check out then. I have quite a bit.”

  
Trina nodded. “And I still have more things on my list.”

  
“Well, that settles it. See you… is five okay?”

  
“Five is good.”

  
“Five it is then,” Cordelia simpered.

  
The both left wordlessly, and Trina felt ashamed to be glad Cordelia left. She wouldn’t have been able to take the awkwardness of everything.

As promised, Trina drove over to the apartment housing both her ex-husband and the lesbians next door. Before going up to Charlotte and Cordelia’s, Trina knocked on Marvin’s door.

  
Trina waited for a few minutes until he opened the door.

  
“Wha-oh. Hi, Trina,” Marvin said.

  
Trina froze as she looked him over. He was wearing some old sweatpants that looked very well-worn as well as his gray hoodie. It too looked very shabby. His hair was messy and uncombed, and it was painfully obvious to see that without his fashion critic, Marvin was at a lost of what to do with himself and his presentation. Tearing her observant eyes away from his getup, she regarded him with patient eyes.

  
“Hello, Marvin.”

  
“So uh… what’re you doing here?”

  
“Oh, well Cordelia invited me for drinks.”

  
Marvin perked up at that. “Oh?”

  
Trina narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  
“Well, anyway,” she said, brushing it off. “I should probably get going. Bye Marvin.”

  
“Bye, Trina.”

  
The door closed behind her as she walked across the hall. She knocked on the apartment door and waited for the door to open.

* * *

When Trina got home, Jason was doing his homework at the kitchen table, a semblance of normalcy. Trina sat down next to him, looking over his work. It was for English, she could tell. English was typically Jason’s worst subject, always earning low grades on his report card for the class.

  
“Need any help?”

  
Jason shook his head vehemently, eying her with suspicion.

  
“Okay.”

  
Trina watched him for a few more minutes until standing up. She wandered into the kitchen, pulling out random things from the pantry.

  
As she was looking around through her drawers, she found her mother’s old cookbook. She gently opened the book, flipping to the first page.

  
Her eyes trailed over the words at the top of the page, French Onion Soup.

  
Her eyes lingered on the page. She read over the recipe.

  
1/2 cup unsalted butter  
4 onions, sliced  
2 garlic cloves, chopped  
2 bay leaves  
2 fresh thyme sprigs  
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper  
1 cup red wine, about 1/2 bottle  
3 heaping tablespoons all-purpose flour  
2 quarts beef broth  
1 baguette, sliced  
1/2 pound grated Gruyere

  
Trina pulled out the needed ingredients from the pantry. She got to work, reading the following instructions.

  
Melt the stick of butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onions, garlic, bay leaves, thyme, and salt and pepper and cook until the onions are very soft and caramelized, about 25 minutes. Add the wine, bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer until the wine has evaporated and the onions are dry about 5 minutes. Discard the bay leaves and thyme sprigs. Dust the onions with the flour and give them a stir. Turn the heat down to medium low so the flour doesn't burn, and cook for 10 minutes to cook out the raw flour taste. Now add the beef broth, bring the soup back to a simmer, and cook for 10 minutes. Season, to taste, with salt and pepper.

  
When you're ready to eat, preheat the broiler. Arrange the baguette slices on a baking sheet in a single layer. Sprinkle the slices with the Gruyere and broil until bubbly and golden brown, 3 to 5 minutes.

  
Ladle the soup in bowls and float several of the Gruyere croutons on top.

  
Trina looked at her creation. It looked identical to the black and white polaroid her mother had thrown on the page. When she looked up from dinner, Jason had left the table, his homework discarded and undone. Trina sighed, wiping her hands on her apron.

  
“Jason!” she shouted. “Come and get your things off the kitchen table. Dinner’s ready!”

* * *

When the Browns wrote back saying they’d be there, Trina hadn’t known what to do.

  
So why her mind immediately went to Marvin, she didn’t question. She simply followed her mind’s orders and drove up to his apartment complex, now finding herself sitting on her ex-husband’s couch, coaxing said ex-husband who’d erupted into tears at the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the recipe i used is actually a real recipe that i’ve cooked for me & my roommate and it’s really fucking good. here’s the link if you want it: [recipe link](https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/french-onion-soup-recipe2-1947434.amp)  
> [Tumblr](https://jeremyistheintrovertheere.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/JeremyIsTrash)  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jeremy_is_utter_trash_hi/)
> 
> kudos are much appreciated :)


End file.
